Psychose

Getting into Hitchcock's Psycho, 57 years after its original release is like assisting to a masterclass of sorts. We can now identify what made this little lurid tale into a classic. Hitchcock himself, naturally, but now we know the first director's cut was a major disappointment and that Alma Reville - Hitch's wife - took over, re edited and the results have been praised, applauded and studied ever since. Janet Leigh's Marion Crane created a movie landmark with her shower scene. Bernard Herrmann and his strings created an extra character that we recognize as soon as it reappears under any disguise but, what shook me the most now in 2017 is Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates. His performance has evolved with the passing of time and its effect has remain as chilling, as moving, as funny and as real as it was in 1960. It's interesting to watch Gus Van Sant's 1998 version with Vince Vaugh as Norman Bates. If you look at the film, shot by shot with Berrnard Herrmann's strings - it's pretty fantastic. - Play it in black and white if you can. The problem and it is a monumental problem, we wait for Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins, if the casting of Anne Heche was really bad - not a hint of Janet Leigh's humanity, the casting of Vince Vaughn was incomprehensible. Not just not credible for a moment but annoying, very annoying. Anthony Perkins brought something profoundly personal to Norman Bates and as a consequence we connected with his sickness. We felt for him. Okay, sorry, I didn't mean to go there but I felt compelled to because I saw again Psycho (1960) ad Psycho (1998) at 24 hours from each other and realized that the main flaw of the 1998 versions is the absence of Anthony Perkins.

Robert Bloch wrote the original work, Joseph Stefano adapted it into a tight screenplay but it was Alfred Hitchcock with the extraordinary complicity of Bernard Herrmann who transformed this lurid tale into a classic, horror masterpiece. The score propels us into the moment before the moment arrives provoking the sort of anticipation that verges on the unbearable. The fact that the key scenes have become iconic film moments: copied, imitated, emulated and parodied, have not diminished its impact, not really. The anticipation, underlined by Herrmann's strings, creates a sort of craving for the moment to arrive. That doesn't happen very often. No amount of planning can produce it or re-produce it - otherwise how do you explain the Gus Van Sant version - so, the only possible explanation is an accident, a miraculous film accident and those do happen. Everything falls into place so perfectly that even the things that one may argue are below the smart standard of the film, are needed, the film without every frame is not quite the film. Try to turn away after the climax during Simon Oakland's long explanation. You can't. I couldn't. Partly because you know you'll soon be confronting those eyes, that fly, the car...

I saw this movie as a teenager when it was first released in the 1960's. The promotional hype for the film ensured you did not have a clue what it was about and people who had seen the movie were asked not to reveal the ending. You went to see it anticipating something scary and thats what you got. Even 30 years later I still remember sitting in a dark theatre with my heart pumping and everyone, and I mean everyone, screaming their lungs out.

The movie set a new and very high standard in horror movies which I don't believe has ever been equaled. The characters were great, the direction perfect and the music, which I thought was absolutely fantastic, made this a classic.

I still get scared when I see it on TV.

An opportunity presents that can't be ignored, to escape from a world that's been making you bored, with dollars galore you ride out of town, pestered by a copper, who keeps hanging around; you seek to find shelter, somewhere to hide, the motel of Bates is the one that you've spied, there's a curious fella who's friendly, polite, you pay for your stay, and wish him goodnight; after taking the key you retire to room, then into the bath for a showery flume, but before you're all clean you get into a lather, as the curtain is shred, by a psychotic slasher.

Still a wonderful piece of filmmaking all these years later.

Most modern-day horror films make the killer to be an absolutely inhuman, grotesque, unimaginable monster in order to scare the audience out of its wits. Most of the time, however, these stereotypes create a generic murderer a raving, ranting, clearly demented psychopath. One of the few memorable cinematic killers that does not adhere to these restraints and cliches is, of course, Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter, whom manages to effectively cause the audience to recoil without such drek as the aforementioned devices.

Anthony Perkins' skillfully crafts his performance as Norman Bates, avoiding a ranting, raving, drooling, murder-happy, manic characterization; instead his performance as Norman is subtle, creepy, cool, and unsettling. He is brilliant; from his quiet conversations with Marion Crane amidst the stuffed birds, to his weasling wimpiness when confronted by Arbogast, his performance is so exact that it chills the viewer, all without the unnecessary disturbing images prevalent in more modern films (read The Cell, Henry: Portrait of A Serial Killer).

Perkin's fine performance, a tight script, and Bernstein's classic score make Psycho a film that is now and will always be remembered as one of the pinnacles of the horror genre.